


Talk Like a Snake

by TreacleTeacups



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Drabble, Magic mishap, Oneshot, Pre-Slash, Prompt Fic, Seventh Year Tom Riddle, Swearing, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-18 21:29:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16127120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TreacleTeacups/pseuds/TreacleTeacups
Summary: In which Harry finds himself suddenly transported in the middle the Second War into the summer of 1944. Drabble that I wrote a while back and don't intend on continuing, but thought I would post it all the same :)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is just a little drabble that never went anywhere and I thought I would post it anyway because, hell, why not? I've marked it as complete because I genuinely have no intent to keep writing more but if I do, I'll be sure to update.
> 
> Also, I found out how to embed images so please excuse the excessive amount of photos added to stories from now on ;) The images below are a guide to how I imagined the characters when writing them out: a scrawny, war-worn Harry, a filthy mouthy Charlus, and a cynical Tom. Good fun.

“Fuck off, Riddle,” Charlus spat, pressing his face into the taller boy’s personal space. Charlus’ hand wrapped possessively around Harry’s wrist, pulling the boy behind him. Harry tugged against the hold, scowling as he was protected like some damsel in distress.

“No need to swear,” Riddle tutted. “Twenty points from Gryffindor. Besides, I only wanted to introduce myself to your little cousin.”

Charlus gasped. “T- _twenty_ points? Are you _insane_?”

Riddle laughed. “More than you could ever know, Potter. Do you always behave like this around family? Possessive, aren’t we?”

Harry looked over Charlus’ shoulder at the tall boy from Slytherin. Charlus told Harry that Slytherins weren’t to be trusted. And that especially counted Riddle, who was a quote ‘filthy, sneaky bastard’. Charlus really did like to swear.

It had been two weeks since Harry landed in an unceremonious heap on the floor of the Gryffindor common rooms, gasping and baffled. They had been fighting in Hogwarts, Harry hiding students in the tower as Death Eaters ran through the castle, turning and absorbing a flash of a spell directly in his face –

Harry appeared in the summer of 1944, bloodied and scattered and ready to rip someone’s head off. Thankfully, the dorms were abandoned as the school year was yet to begin. It had been… Disorienting.

Riddle tutted again and Harry shivered. It was so odd to see Voldemort, the monster from his time, looking so young at seventeen. And, well, _handsome_. It was completely bizarre. Even though Harry knew that Voldemort was still himself, already having made a few horcruxes by this age, it was still difficult to see how he would become the monster from Harry’s time.

“Harry doesn’t want to talk to you,” Charlus snarled.

“Why don’t we let him speak for himself?” Riddle countered.

“Charlie,” Harry whispered, wrapping a hand over his grandfather’s shoulder (and wasn’t that an odd thought?).

Charlus looked at Harry in the corner of his eye, not turning his back to Riddle. “Yeah, kiddo?” Charlus asked kindly, a sudden contrast from the cold tone he took with Riddle.

It amused Harry that Charlus called him kiddo; he was only a few months younger than his grandfather and had been through much worse at this age than Harry knew Charlus would ever live through. The whole conversation with Dumbledore and Dippet had gone… Bizarrely. But Harry was placed with his closest family until he could be returned to his time and Charlus treated Harry like a younger brother. It was amazing having a family. Harry felt a curl of warmth in his stomach at his grandfather’s reaction; even though they’d only known each other for two weeks, the boy had welcomed Harry into his family with open arms.

“It’s been a really long day, with all the new students arriving and the sorting,” Harry whispered as he smiled disarmingly, carefully not making eye contact with Riddle.

“Yeah, okay,” Charlus sighed, deflating.

Charlus scowled at Riddle one last time and dragged Harry down the hall towards the Gryffindor Tower. Harry shivered as he felt the weight of Riddle’s eyes on his back as the two Potters walked away, even long after the boy was out of sight

* * *

Doing Seventh Year was extremely odd for Harry, who had spent the last eight months on the run and fighting. Guerrilla ambushes and strategy meetings and counter-curse training had turned, alarmingly quickly, into Quidditch practice and evening feasts. It had been jarring at first, Harry jumpy at the slightest noise, wand out and ready for combat. Harry had slowly, ever so slowly, eased back into civilian life.

That was, of course, until Harry met Tom Riddle. The boy watched him. That was perhaps an understatement. Tom Riddle _stalked_ him. Harry hated it, feeling the boy’s curious gaze every moment of every class.

Riddle took many more classes than Harry, who only went forward with Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, and Charms. But even in those four classes, Riddle watched. And watched. And _watched,_ until Harry couldn’t take it anymore.

* * *

“Can I help you?” Harry asked stiffly, frowning as he turned to Riddle.

Riddle leant casually against a bookcase, carefully browsing through an ancient tome of some sort or another. He made a show of marking his place before looking up to Harry through, what Harry thought, were ridiculously dark eyelashes. Did the boy wear mascara, for Merlin’s sake?

“Yes?” Riddle hummed, as if Harry were interrupting his reading.

“You were watching me, you prat,” Harry answered calmly despite his harsh words. “I could feel it.”

Riddle stared at Harry for a moment, as if surprised by his bluntness. Harry realised that perhaps the Slytherin house, and this era, didn’t really speak so forwardly. Except of course for Charlus. Oh, well.

“Watching you?” Riddle asked innocently. “Whatever for? Surely you don’t think I’d be trying to deduct housepoints from you. I highly doubt Gryffindor could take any more losses, especially with your cousin Charlus attempting to break the school record for point loss in the first semester.”

Harry eyed Riddle from his alcove, a little uncomfortable sitting in the highback chair now that he realised the seat forced himself to sit in a vulnerable position, back to the monster – no, the Slytherin Head Boy.

“Well,” Riddle continued smoothly as he placed the book back on the shelf, “Now that we find ourselves chatting, mind if I take a seat?”

Before Harry could tell the Slytherin to shove it somewhere unpleasant, the dark featured boy was suddenly seated across the small table from himself. Harry tensed, mind suddenly on his wand tucked into his robes.

“I find you fascinating,” Riddle continued pleasantly, as if talking about tea. “You are so frightfully interesting, you do know that right? So grumpy, though you are a Potter so I won’t hold it against you. But awfully intriguing for you to start school in your Seventh Year. I find it surprising that your parents, who I assume to be purebloods, would choose to hold you back until now to introduce you to your peers. I was told Hogwarts is the finest school in Europe. Perhaps, though, you know better than me.”

Harry stared at Riddle in blank shock, realising that the boy was trying to make conversation with him. And succeeding, for the most part. With the exception that it was a fully one-sided conversation.

“I’ve heard better things of Dumstrang,” Harry snapped just to be obstinate and then balked, realising the boy had actually drawn him in. Harry hated himself instantly for not being able to keep his mouth shut. Damned Potter genes.

Riddle laughed. It was a charming sound, light and gentle and _nothing_ like the high pitched horror Harry had become used to. It was odd.

“Dumstrang. I’ve heard of it. Rather dark for a Potter, though, wouldn’t you say?” Riddle asked, dark amber eyes glittering mischievously.

Harry found himself dumbstruck. He was sitting in the library of Hogwarts, in 1944, having an actual conversation with _Tom Riddle._

“Of course, better than Beauxbatons. I hear they have a _half-blood_ as acting Headmistress. Rather appalling, if I may say so myself,” Riddle chuckled as he leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, as if speaking to a close friend.

Harry bristled immediately. The surprise of the situation evaporated quickly and he was left feeling cold and irritated. This creature, this _monster_ in the shell of a boy, was the very reason Harry sat decades in the past, still itching for a proper fight.

“Spoken like a _pureblood_ ,” Harry spat tightly, mouth twisting into a misshapen scowl.

Riddle froze then adjusted as he processed Harry’s ill-thought words. The boy’s long, crossed legs slid smoothly together as he leaned back into the leather wingback chair and his ankle rested gently on the other leg’s knee. Riddle’s hands clasped together gently and Harry felt himself grow even tenser as the boy relaxed further in confident charm. A viper always stilled before striking.

“Secrets spread quickly through these walls, I’ve learnt,” Riddle answered softly, tone sweeter than honey.

Harry wished suddenly that his brash, irritable grandfather were here to break the tension.

“Though not as quickly as rumours,” Riddle continued, lips tilting into a slanting smirk. Harry watched that mouth, knowing the words that passed through spelt only trouble.

“Is that so?” Harry asked distractedly, not paying attention to the enemy across the small, darkened alcove despite watching the creature’s mouth carefully. Harry felt his vision blur slightly as he focused only on the weight of his wand in his pocket and the taste of a disarming spell on his tongue.

“Tell me, Harry, from where do you hail?” Riddle whispered softly.

Harry blinked at the words, surprised by the archaic phrasing. “Surrey,” Harry answered instantly and regretted it just as quickly. Harry’s eyes flickered up to Riddle’s and was surprised to find that the boy was watching him sharply.

“Surrey,” Riddle crooned, smiling secretly. “Interesting. I didn’t know Potters bred in muggle outposts.”

“Mother was a muggle born,” Harry answered, shrugging and turning back to the abandoned book in his lap. Potions studies. Harry wished desperately he could get away with cursing Riddle to kingdom come.

Riddle visibly flinched at Harry’s bluntness, muscles tensing in surprise. Harry hid a pleased smile.

“Father was a Potter. Didn’t know them. Died when I was young,” Harry continued, feeling the dark enjoyment of shocking Riddle seep into his stomach. The boy was watching him with rapt attention now. Harry wasn't sure why; he would have imagined that Riddle would lose interest once discovering that Harry wasn't a pureblood.

“Condolences for your loss,” Riddle breathed, as if genuinely sorry for the death of Harry’s parents.

Harry snorted, incapable of withholding the sound, at the preposterousness of _Voldemort_ apologising for Harry’s dead parents. “Didn’t know them well. Was raised by my relatives. Came here to study my last year at a professional school so that I have Hogwarts’ title in my resume. I’m sure the head boy has something better to do than grill the new boy, though, so may I ask if there’s anything else I can help you with? I’m kind of swamped with studies at the moment,” Harry ended coldly, knowing he was playing directly into Riddle’s hand. He just wanted to curse the smug bastard.

“Of course, Mr. Potter,” Riddle agreed amicably, standing quickly and smoothing out the crinkles of his robes. “’Til next time.” And, with that, the boy swept out of the library, his tome long forgotten on a nearby shelf.

_Goddammit,_ Harry thought to himself in frustration, wondering what exactly he’d gotten himself into.


	2. Unexpected Ails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry discovers an unexpected side of duelling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't I just say that I wouldn't be continuing this? I think I'm avoiding writing for my other stories :( Oh well, here you go and I hope you enjoy ;) Just a slightly longer drabble in this universe in which Harry discovers that Riddle is not what he expected.

Dippet and Dumbledore decided upon Harry’s unexpected arrival, for the sake of the timeline, to alter Harry’s looks. Instead of green eyes and glasses, Harry was adjusted to have brown eyes like his grandfather and his vision corrected. Thankfully, the brown eyes are just a glamour but the vision correction is permanent. It involved nearly a week of daily potions but the result was well worth it; Harry wished he had considered it before. It turned out that all the Potter boys looked shockingly alike (Harry cursing the pureblood inbreeding) so the two adults were confident that Harry, provided he didn’t go sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, wouldn’t be bending the future and snapping it off into an alternate timeline altogether. Well, as confident as two people could be who knew next to nothing on the subject as the Unspeakables were only just beginning to make progress with time studies in 1944.

At first, the change in time and scenery had been welcome for Harry. Hogwarts had always been a safe place for him, full of familiar corridors and secret passageways, even if the students and professors were different. It was almost a form of escape for Harry, who didn’t need to worry about the Dark Lord of the current time or the bombs dropping on the cities of Europe and Britain. He knows it will all be over in a year anyway, even if the students don’t. Harry’s indifference to the war is taken rather oddly by his peers, but he’s dismissed as ‘airy’ or ‘spacey’ and ‘odd’, all words that Harry would have once attached to Luna and rather proud of the comparison.

Then Harry finds himself growing impatient. Antsy. Irritable. Dumbledore and Dippet are doing their best, certainly, but their best is turning out to not be good enough. Harry doesn’t know if the future keeps rolling on without him or if it has stopped, perpetually on hold until the time traveller is returned to his rightful era. Harry is _itching_ to hunt down Riddle’s horcruxes and slaughter them, then turn on the brown eyed boy and lock him up in a cell next to Grindelwald’s future home. But no matter what Harry wants to do, he can’t afford to get sent to Azkaban in this time for murdering a fellow yearmate for seemingly no reason in particular; he doubts the claim that Riddle is a monstrous Dark Lord in the future will be worth a grain of salt here.

But, _frustratingly,_ Harry doesn’t know if changing the timeline like that will dramatically rip apart the future (but he’s reasonably sure it will) and, in the future, he’s _so close_ to taking Voldemort down. Will locking up Riddle now provide the monster more chances in the future to get smarter, smarmier about his method of takeover? Harry can’t be sure.

In his time, Harry is less than an hour away; even in this time, Harry can taste it. Can feel victory burning over his skin, constantly on the edge of that moment of breathless fixation as his fingers begin to wrap around a snitch. He feels like a windup toy, impotently incapable of bouncing around even though he’s wound up to the tightest coil. At a moment’s notice, Harry is ready to return to the Gryffindor tower of his time, scale down the stairs, rip the head off Nagini (by hand, if need be) and take himself and Voldemort out at once. Because Harry’s not stupid, he knows he’s a horcrux. It was a brutal realisation, but he’s gotten there eventually and he’s decided that mutual destruction will neatly wrap the war up with a bow on top.

Harry’s not scared of having to kill himself in order to take out Voldemort. In fact, he’s almost proud. He’d much rather be the gavel, not the judge. He’s a weapon, a hammer and striker all in one. He doesn’t do well with strategies and war games and manipulations. Harry is more the type to enact a good old fashioned ‘show up and blow up’ strategy. It’s basically become his trademark style.

So the fact that Harry is just over fifty years in the past, playing pretend-family with his grandfather and faux-rivalry with the other houses, waiting and waiting and _waiting_ , all the while on the edge of the proverbial seat ready, so ready – well, he should have expected something to go wrong.

* * *

“So remember the five safety guides and find a partner,” the professor instructed from the front of the classroom. Harry couldn’t remember the Defence Against the Dark Art Professor’s name. Harry had decided (admittedly a little childishly) to interact with the past as little as possible, clinging to the idea that he would be back in his own era in a moment’s notice. No need to go remembering who is who and what happened because of why.

“Partner?” Charlie asked eagerly from Harry’s left. Harry turned to his ‘cousin’, who insisted on sitting between Harry and the Slytherins on the far left of the classroom to protect the younger boy (Harry allowed it if only to amuse himself, knowing that his grandfather wouldn’t hold a candle to his own defensive skills).

“Pardon?” Harry asked, blinking in surprise.

“Oh, Merlin,” Charlie groaned, clapping a hand over his face. “You weren’t listening again, were you?” At Harry’s crinkle of brow, Charlie frowned. “We’re duelling! I’m so excited. The professors very rarely allow us to duel in class!”

Harry shrugged in response.

“Alright, that’s enough!” The professor roared over the sudden volume of chatter. “I take it back – _I’ll_ be assigning partners, as you lot seem to be incapable of quietly finding one.”

A chorus of groans met his announcement.

“Well, that’s just rude,” Charlie muttered under his breath, before blushing brightly as the professor pinned him with a knowing glare.

The professor rattled off an odd pairing of students, mixing Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and Slytherins with alarming ease. Harry didn’t bother to listen to most of it, still unable to match the names to the faces despite being in school for nearly two months, but he flinched at the last call of students.

“Charlus Potter with Dorea Black,” which had Charlie blushing a mottled red, “And Thomas Riddle with Harold Potter.”

Harry sat up quickly at that. His name wasn’t Harold, just Harry, but most of the professors seemed to ignore that.

_Tom Riddle._

“Get fucked,” Harry breathed, barely above a whisper.

There was a silent moment of disbelief at Harry’s words, the few students around him who heard freezing before suddenly bursting out into helpless sniggers.

“The _mouth_ on you,” Charlie gasped quietly, pressing an offended hand against his chest as he levelled an expression of pure shock at his younger relative. “Wherever did you get _that_ from?”

Harry shot Charlie a sidelong glare.

Charlie grinned. “Oh, right,” he acknowledged. “But don’t go using those words around mum,” Charlie whispered, glancing around suspiciously as if the woman would materialise and whack him over the head. 

“Alright now, students, pair off. We’ll have five minutes of preparations and then we’ll be going down to the Great Hall. It has been prepared for duelling practice and will afford us plenty of space to move,” the professor droned.

“Yeah, no,” Harry told Charlie, not moving even as the other students began to rise and find their partner. “Tell Black to pair up with Riddle, yeah? We’ll work together instead.”

Charlie once more lit up like a Christmas tree, his high cheekbones suddenly turning maroon. “Well, um, Harry,” Charlie stammered out. “It – well. It turns out Dorea and I are engaged. I’ve just found out over the summer. It wouldn’t _hurt_ for us to start talking, you see, and perhaps get to know each other better.”

Harry stared at his grandfather in disbelief. Sure, he was intellectually aware that Charlus and Dorea married, but he hadn’t known it was an arranged marriage or that the two had never really spoken before then. But, considering pureblood tradition, it made sense. Either way, though, Harry felt a twinge of betrayal at his grandfather’s words.

“Oh, Harry,” Charlie sighed, looking put out. “Don’t look at me like that with those puppy eyes, you ridiculously tiny little cutie. I’m really sorry, it’s just that if I tell her to pair up with Riddle, she might take it as a brush-off and then I’ll _really_ be in the shit.”

Harry frowned at his grandfather’s words. He didn’t look at _anyone_ with “puppy eyes”. And Harry sure as hell wasn’t _cute._ What a preposterous thing to say. He might be smaller than his peers, but he’s a _weapon_. It somewhat annoys him that no one else seems to have figured that out. Weirdly enough, Harry feels like snapping at his relative. He doesn’t like being infantilised.

“Alright, well, have fun,” Charlie managed to say, sounding oddly strangled. He was then off like a shot, sliding up by Dorea’s side with sudden charm as if he hadn’t just been floundering over working with his fiancé. Harry saw immediately where his own father, James, had gotten his charm from. Charlie managed to have the icy Slytherin girl huffing with a barely concealed laugh within the first twenty seconds.

“Potter mating tactics are rather embarrassing, aren’t they? Makes one wonder how the line has managed to carry on,” a deep voice whispered in Harry’s ear.

Harry jumped minutely before stifling his reaction of shock, trying to ignore the young man sliding down into the chair that Charlie just vacated. Riddle. Right, that’s happening.

“So, duelling,” Harry said tightly, still facing forward in his chair and looking down at the desk. He’s determined to not let Riddle get under his skin.

Riddle hummed in response. “Duelling, yes. Ever done it before?” Riddle asked smoothly.

Harry felt a lash of annoyance strike his chest. He stifled it brutally. “A few times,” Harry responded, disliking how brittle his voice sounded.

“Interesting. Well, I’ve been part of the duelling club for a few years now so I suppose I’ll have to take it easy on you. Size certainly isn’t a requirement of a good match, but I have to say that you are a fair bit smaller than me so it would come off as unfair if I completely demolished you in front of the other students,” Riddle said lightly, leaning back in the wooden chair, appraising Harry with a sly sidelong glance.

Harry felt like he was drowning. Every single instinct screamed at him to _take this asshole out_ but he managed to hold on by a thread. Part of Harry knew that he couldn’t fight Riddle, couldn’t duel him with his wand because the damned things are brothers and there’s no way in the seven layers of hell that he’s going to let Riddle know that. But oh, _it burns_ , the need to unleash every moment of trained offensive tactic and battle instincts that have been hammered into Harry’s weary frame.

“Sensitive about your height?” Riddle then was crooning, leaning forward slightly into Harry’s personal space. “That’s a rather obvious sore spot, I must say. You shouldn’t let people get to you so easily.”

Harry bit down on his bottom lip sharply as he closed his eyes. _Clear your mind, clear your mind, clear your mind_ , rang out in a mantra in his head. He carefully released the wand in his pocket, feeling it beginning to warm in anticipation of a curse. He _could not_ let Riddle piss him off.

Harry inhaled deeply before relaxing slightly, opening his eyes and glancing at Riddle. The older boy had now turned in his seat and was facing Harry full on, elbows on his knees and fingers laced as he looked up at Harry with a dangerous gleam in his eye.

“Are you trying to wind me up, _Tom_?” Harry asked, pleased that the words came out light-hearted even though he felt like punching the git in the face. “Because I don’t think that’s what the professor meant when he said to prep.”

Riddle smirked, an odd twist of his lips. Harry watched him out of the corner of his eye, annoyed that even the twist of the wanker’s lips could rile him so.

“You wear your emotions on your sleeve, _Harry_ ,” Riddle whispered, tone playful but expression predatory. “You should probably work on that.”

“All right, students,” the professor called out suddenly, clapping his hands and making Harry jump. “Time to head down. We have an hour left of class, so let’s make it count!”

Harry shot out of his seat and quickly made his way down to the Great Hall, leading the rest of the class by at least a few corridors.

“For someone so small, you certainly move quickly,” Riddle called out, right on Harry’s heels. “Rather like a fairy.”

Harry whipped around, wand in his hand even though he couldn’t recall drawing it, and levelled the holly to Riddle’s face. The boy stopped in his tracks, wand-hand empty and twitching as he stared at Harry impassively.

“Say that again,” Harry snarled in challenge.

“Oops,” Riddle said innocently, eyes widening as he raised his palms slowly in the symbol for _unarmed_. “I didn’t realise that would wound you so.”

“Fuck you,” Harry spat.

“Let’s forget the Great Hall,” Riddle stated suddenly, palms lowering and eyes glinting dangerously. “How about we duel in private, give it our all. Winner has to take the loser to the Hospital Wing, the loser has to admit the winner is the better dueller.”

Harry wanted to say no, to tell the monster _precisely_ what he can do with his own wand. But. Harry’s been itching for battle, for _something_. This is such a stupid idea, but it’s exactly for that reason that he says, “Fine.”

Riddle looked surprised for a moment, as if he hadn’t expected Harry to say yes, but he recovered within a heartbeat. “Follow me, then,” Riddle stated, turning and walking in the opposite direction from where they came. Harry realised that the other students must have taken a different route to the Great Hall as they had yet to pass them by.

Harry followed Riddle a safe distance up to the Seventh Floor. The Room of Requirement. Harry sighed; he’d forgotten Riddle knew about it.

“After you,” Riddle offered graciously after pacing three times in front of a blank wall, a large wooden door appearing out of the blue. Riddle watched Harry carefully, as if expecting Harry to be impressed by the magic. Harry rolled his eyes.

“No way in hell,” Harry stated, crossing his arms. “After _you_.”

Riddle smirked again, charming and handsome and oh so devilish. Harry was really coming to fucking _hate_ that face. “Alright then,” he answered amenably. He then slipped into the Room of Requirement, Harry following hesitantly from a distance.

Riddle had wished for a traditional duelling room; the cavernous space was larger than even the main chamber of the Great Hall. An enormous, long stage sat in the middle of the space, looking dwarfed despite its size due to the expanse of the room. Cathedral window panes lined the room, illuminating the dusty space with an eerie, gothic glow.

“Let’s make this interesting,” Harry snapped as Riddle began to curl around the side of the room.

“How so?” Riddle enquired, eyes glinting even in the soft light room.

“No wands,” Harry stated. “Verbal spell are okay, but no wands. We’ll leave them over here,” Harry pointed at a small nook in the room. “Of course, unless you’re not _confident_. In which case I’m happy to leave my wand and you can keep yours.”

Riddle looked furious for a heartbeat, the taunt digging deep, before his expression washed over with faux amusement.

“Oh, darling,” Riddle crooned, the deep tenor of his voice raising the hair on Harry’s neck, “I think I’d like that very much.”

Harry sneered as he placed his wand down on the floor and quickly walked towards the far end of the stage, keeping Riddle within his line of sight.

Riddle followed suit and before Harry knew it, he was facing down his arch nemesis (though not like the taller boy knew it) on the stage of the duelling room.

“Ready, baby Potter?” Riddle quipped, a vicious smirk slashing across his lips.

_Sectumsempra_ , Harry thought brutally as he slashed his hand down in the air, the word singing out in his mind. A brief memory of Draco Malfoy gasping, surrounded by bathwater, flashed in Harry’s mind. For the first time, Harry felt satisfaction at using that spell.

Riddle quickly sidestepped the hurtling light, having to duck rather dramatically to avoid it. The boy turned and watched the odd line of magical light smash into the wall behind him and explode the stones, the spell glowing a sickly yellow as it raced across the stonework like lightning.

“Cursed wounds,” Riddle said quietly into the room, Harry crouching down onto the toes of his feet and resting against the tips of his fingers, rather alike an animal but a position well suited to his style. Riddle turned around and appeared surprised by Harry’s new stance. “Hardly a fair first spell in a duel.”

_Minerale Conjurous, Draconifors,_ Harry thought quickly as he flung out his hand and spun to increase the spell speed, sending a handful of rocks the size of his fist towards Riddle. The dragon transfiguration caught up to the conjured rocks immediately and converted them into small, fiercely savage dragons. Riddle blanched for a brief instant before raising his hand quickly, moments before the dragons reached him, and quietly whispered, “ _Ebublio_.”

The dragons were sucked into a massive bubble, keening and screeching angrily as they tried to pop the filmy trap to no avail. Riddle backhanded the large bubble out of his way, the dragons bouncing off into a different part of the room as if stuck in a zorb, and Riddle snarled dangerously.

“Dirty duelling from a Gryffindor? I’m almost impressed,” Riddle spat.

“Are you all bark, no bite?” Harry taunted, a little annoyed the dragons hadn’t been able to at least _singe_ Riddle. “How depressing.”

It was as if Harry had said the magic words, for Riddle snarled viciously and then they were off, shooting spell after spell after one another. Unlike wand duelling, the pair had to protect their magical reserves and chose to dive out of the way of the spells rather than deflecting them. Before Harry knew it, they were tumbling off the stage and backing one another into sections of the room, slashing and dodging with practiced speed.

Harry felt a small part of him unleash excitedly at the duel, exploding forth with each counter curse and offensive spell. He had not stretched his wings like this in a _long_ time, even before arriving here in 1944. It was breathlessly freeing.

Riddle clearly felt the same way, if the smirk adorning his face was anything to go by.

Parts of the room were converted into a swamp, the rafters of the high ceiling began to drizzle rain with the backlash of wayward spell, and Harry laughed as a large snake, conjured by Riddle, was sucked into quicksand.

“Still bark,” Harry panted from the other side of the room, having bounced away from Riddle just before he was consumed by a blood boiling curse.

“You really are a little pixie,” Riddle taunted back, voice distant due to how far away he was. But unlike Harry’s expectation of exhausted, he sounded almost… Excited _. Pleased_.

_That won’t do,_ Harry thought to himself with a frown. He lifted his wand arm in preparation to hit Riddle with a _Confundus_ when he was wrapped by an odd pressure of magic. Harry gaped momentarily, not having seen Riddle either speak nor motion while casting. Harry found himself being dragged through the room, flying towards Riddle with inhuman speed as if attached by a rope.

Harry knew instantly that he was in trouble. His best duelling was done at a distance, with room to breathe. Riddle, on the other hand, seemed almost _made_ for close duelling.

_Emancipare_ , Harry thought frantically, unsure what kind of bindings were holding his arms close to his torso as he was dragged ever closer to Riddle.

The unbinding spell seemed to do the trick, for he was instantly released but the inertia of the pulling spell still held and Harry found himself rolling across the stone floor like a tumbleweed.

And then, in a heartbeat, Riddle was on top of Harry, frame covering every inch of Harry and holding him tightly. Large hands wound over Harry’s wrists and yanked his arms over his head, thighs pinning Harry to the cold flagstones.

Harry blinked in surprise at the sudden hostile takeover, stunned that Riddle had managed to catch him. He chanced a look up and paled as Riddle leered over him, dark eyes piercing and lips tugging into a satisfied smirk.

The moment Harry made eye contact with Riddle, plush lips descended and then Harry was being kissed within an inch of his life, a sure tongue slipping past his own and wrestling for dominating control. Harry’s eyes widened as he stared into Riddle’s amber irises, pupils blown wide, feeling a rough swipe of a tongue against the roof his mouth and trembling for it, his own tongue teased into playing. Riddle kept his eyes fully open as well, piercing into Harry’s soul as he ravished the boy in his arms. Harry startled for a moment; he could have sworn in the reflection of Riddle’s eyes that his own glamour had dropped, that his eyes were _green_.

_Fuck, what?_ Harry thought stupidly. Then the momentarily lapse of judgement ended with a snap and Harry was _furious_. The anger whipped through Harry’s frame as he arched, still trapped in Riddle’s tight hold, and he thought with a vengeance, _Legilimens_.

The reaction was instantaneous. Harry had slipped into Riddle’s mind for barely a moment before he was brutally released, Riddle surging away and snapping their eye contact.

Harry scrambled back and quickly forced a wind tunnelling spell through his fingers, flying back through the air nearly twenty metres from Riddle’s position. Harry somehow managed a quick cushioning charm as he landed on his toes and fingers, pressing down brutally into the stonework of the floor as he slid backwards a few metres further from his harsh landing.

“Legilimency is considered assault,” Riddle stated emotionlessly from across the room as his eyes flashed dangerously.

“And non-consensual kissing isn’t?” Harry snapped back, feeling his blood scorching his face in an embarrassing blush.

“Non-consensual?” Riddle echoed. “Then what was your tongue doing down my throat?” Riddle laughed, his tongue licking against his lips in lewd pleasure as Harry flushed even redder, mind coming up blank as he tried to consider a retort. Riddle shifted oddly, then, as he hunched and leaned towards Harry. Harry blanched at the movement, recognising it instantly. Riddle was trying to _transform_.

Just as Harry realised what Riddle was doing, the monster began to run towards Harry and, in an instant, he had transformed into a massive black panther, strong and dangerous and _alluring_ as it leapt towards Harry on four powerful paws _._

Harry gaped at the large cat bounding towards him. He hadn’t known Voldemort was an animagus, let alone that his animagus was a massive _jungle cat_.

Harry scrambled back as Riddle launched through the air towards Harry, not five metres away, with his claws extended and a predatory gleam in his animalistic, blown pupils. Harry closed his own eyes instead, focusing desperately as he grabbed his school tie and thought frantically, _Portus_ _Premus._

Harry’s tie immediately turned into a portkey just as Riddle neared with his vicious claws and Harry was sucked into a void, Riddle’s large arms clasping around thin air. Harry appeared, dizzied, on the other side of the room and he immediately released his portkey’d tie, watching Riddle’s panther form collapse onto the floor in surprise.

“Illegal animagi,” Harry called out hoarsely, heart still thumping in his throat at the near mauling. “Are much worse in the ministry’s eyes than legilimency.”

Riddle then melded back into his ( _unfairly ridiculously handsome_ ) human form, grinning as he pushed himself off the floor. “And illegal portkeys are _extremely_ frowned upon, perhaps even more so than illegal animagi.  You’re not the usual Gryffindor idiot I had expected, I must admit.”

Harry was trembling already from his depleted magical core, not having expected Riddle to be this advanced. Harry had been training for _months_ to be this strong, while Riddle had merely enjoyed duelling class during school season. Harry snarled at the thought that it was most likely Riddle had the upper hand due to his health; Harry was still recovering from not only a lifetime of ill nutrition but also from being on the run for nearly a year.

“You’re such an asshole,” Harry spat. “You could have mauled me.”

“I _should_ have mauled you,” Riddle corrected, adjusting his loose school tie and upper lip curling in a hidden laugh. “Before you decided to break every ministry law, that is.”

“Fuck you,” Harry snarled.

“ _Animus,_ ” Riddle replied.

Harry barely had a moment to blink in surprise and then the portkey around his neck was activated as it wrapped around the column of his throat, sucking him once more into the void and across into the other side of the room.

Harry gasped in surprise as he appeared a hair’s breadth away from Riddle and the boy immediately wrapped around him, lithe forearms pulling Harry close into a strong chest and Harry squawked as his face was pressed into the dip of Riddle’s shoulder. Harry inhaled sharply, lungs gasping for air after being sucked through the unexpected transport, and he was inundated with the scent of Riddle.

_Cedar, musk, cinnamon, wood smoke,_ Harry’s mind supplied dumbly. All the best highlights of a dark magic users’ scent, the boy clearly exposed and basking in black magic. A large hand wound its way into Harry’s tousled head of hair, yanking his face away from the muscular shoulder and Harry found himself once more staring into the dark eyes of Tom Riddle, that firm forearm still wrapped around his waist and trapping Harry to the taller boy’s frame.

“Much, _much_ more impressive than I expected,” Riddle murmured, leaning his face down into Harry’s personal space. “What are you, Harry Potter?”

Harry blinked up in surprise at the boy’s odd turn of phrasing. “Your worst nightmare,” Harry answered softly before he could help himself.

“Harry!” A voice screamed. Harry yanked his head to the left, wincing as Riddle’s fingers tugged through his hair, and gaped at the sight of Charlus Potter standing in the doorway of the Room of Requirement.

Riddle held Harry closer as Charlie began to stalk towards them, wand raising in threat. Harry chanced a glance back up to the taller boy, frowning at the predatory smirk in Riddle’s features.

“Let him go,” Charlie snarled, advancing.

“No,” Riddle whispered teasingly, expression vicious in its amusement and arms encasing Harry tighter.

Harry managed to wind his fingers around his portkey’d tie once more and focused on activating the fabric. A second of inaction passed and then Harry was appearing not five metres away from his grandfather, feeling all sorts of unruffled and odd. For some reason, Harry felt like he’d been… _Caught_. Doing what, precisely, he wasn’t sure.

“Charlie,” Harry called out weakly, motioning the boy to his side. Charlie responded immediately, not even flinching at Harry’s sudden change of position, and then Harry found himself being dragged out of the Room of Requirement with Charlie’s large hand over Harry’s wrist. Harry reached out with his free hand quickly as he passed through the doorway, relieved when his wand snapped into his hand.

“What the living fuck was that about?” Charlie snarled, sounding both furious and desperately concerned, as he yanked Harry through the seventh-floor corridor.

“I have no idea,” Harry answered simply, feeling near punch-drunk, and letting Charlie take the lead. Harry chanced a glance back and his eyes widened as he watched Riddle appear in the doorway to the Room of Requirement, tall and looming. The taller boy’s eyes glinted as he smiled darkly at Harry, an odd promise of something, and Harry blushed. He looked forward once more, grateful that his grandfather hadn’t noticed the interaction.

“I don’t know,” Harry repeated, feeling like he may have just changed everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Harry likes being challenged. Oh my.


End file.
